


Postman Gold

by prissygirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, One Shot, Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prissygirl/pseuds/prissygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger Gold is Storybrooke’s resident postman and Belle French's mail has caught his interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postman Gold

It was a bright and sunny day, the type that made Roger Gold glad that his job allowed him to be outside and enjoy it.

Delivering mail to the town of Storybrooke was hardly the most glamorous job, but it paid the bills and it meant that he was able to keep to himself most of the time. As someone who had struggled with shyness ever since he was a boy, it was the perfect career for him.

He enjoyed the feel of the sun’s rays on on his face as turned to walk down the next street. A small smile appeared on his face as he neared the next stop on his route: 181 Avonlea Road.

The address belonged to Ms. Belle French, a woman with the most interesting mail in town.

Gold had been her postman for years, and there wasn’t another person on his route whose mail intrigued him half as much as hers.

He found her mail fascinating. She corresponded with people on multiple continents, receiving postcards from far-off places like China and South Africa and big, bulky letters from Austria and Wales at least twice a month. Ms. French didn’t subscribe to the trashy celebrity magazines he delivered to her neighbors. No, her mail revealed her taste to be an eclectic assortment of hobbies that teetered on the edge of ridiculous, in Gold’s opinion. She received magazines and journals dedicated to everything from mountain exploration to contemporary Caribbean art and culture.

With so many subscriptions, he wasn’t quite sure how she found time to read them all, but he had no doubt that she did. He thought it rather unlikely that she would spend money on a magazine called _Ukulele_ for the photography.

Occasionally something boring like an electric bill or junk mail would make it into her mailbox and Gold would find himself actually feeling let down to see her receive mail as mundane as the rest of the town.

He looked forward to seeing what secrets Ms. French’s mail would spill about her identity today as he made the journey up to her mailbox. It had been about a year ago that she had painted it – no doubt an idea she had gotten from one of her hobby magazines – to resemble what Gold could only guess was supposed to resemble the Magic School Bus. It may have taken him over fifteen minutes on Google one night to figure that out, but he felt that was less due to his searching abilities and more to the state of the mailbox. From the amount of mail she received from the local school, Gold felt he could safely assume that she was a teacher. Based on the sorry paint job her mailbox had received, he prayed for the children’s sake that she didn’t teach art.

As he stepped up to the box, he noticed that its flag was not up. Thinking that perhaps Ms. French had forgotten to flip it up, he opened the mailbox and was surprised to find it empty. For as long as he could remember, there was always a letter for Austria or Wales on Tuesdays. He mentally wracked his brain to make sure he wasn’t off on his days, but he knew he was correct. His boss Regina had slouched into work that morning with her usual hangover from her Margarita Monday binge the night before, glaring daggers at him when he gave her a hearty and loud “Good morning.”

The chance to annoy Regina always inspired him to at least briefly overcome his shyness. 

Still looking warily at the empty mailbox – as if the beastly yellow thing might have swallowed the letter up just to annoy him – Gold grumbled and finally dug into to his mailbag, shuffling through the bundles for Ms. French’s mail.

Despite his strong curiosity in her life, Gold had never stooped to opening her mail. Not only was it obviously illegal, but he liked to think that his interest in her hadn’t crossed the line into stalking quite yet. He knew it might hug the border a bit, but as he had yet to lose any sleep over her, he figured a bit of curiosity was fine.

Of course, there had been that lingerie magazine of hers that had accidentally flipped open that one time, he remembered. Gold blushed at the memory.

He knew it had to have been junk mail though. By his estimation, Ms. French was his elder by at least twenty years or so. Gold pictured her as a friendly older woman with silvery white hair tied back in a bun whose students had adored her each year for over forty years. He liked to think she dressed a bit like a librarian with a buttoned-up cardigan and little spectacles perched on the edge of her nose, her face wrinkled with laugh lines. He could imagine her sitting in her home in a rocking chair, knitting incredibly hideous wool scarves for her students. Based on how poorly her mailbox had faired under her artistic touch, Gold didn’t feel too bad about having doubts about her knitting abilities.  

The thought caused him to chuckle a bit as he slid a few envelopes and a copy of _WorldView_ into her mailbox. As he turned away to make his way down the street, he heard a shouting voice accompanied by the sound of running footsteps.

“Wait!”

He turned back as a small blur of motion streaked towards him, coming to a quick stop in front of the yellow mailbox. The woman was a petite brunette, perhaps in her late 20s or early 30s. She held out a thick envelope. “Sorry it’s late. I was trying to finish up my letter and the words just kept pouring out of my pen!” A small flush spread over her cheeks and she laughed somewhat embarrassedly. “But I’m sure you’re aware of my fondness for endlessly long letters already.”

Gold took the letter automatically and then blinked at what was printed on the envelope. The letter was addressed to an Austrian address that he had seen countless times before. He looked quickly to the sender’s name, frowning.  

He glanced back at the young woman standing before him, who was now staring at him expectantly. His brain swam as it tried to take in this new information. Gold narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re Ms. French?”

“Do you know anyone else who sends novel-length letters to Austria?” Her mouth quirked up in the corner and had he not been trying to reconcile the idea of the grandmotherly Ms. French in his head with the blue-eyed beauty before him, he would have recognized that she was teasing him.

“Well, no…never mind,” he said quickly, shoving the letter into his bag. “I should be on my way.” He avoided the piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut right through him.

“Oh, of course,” she said, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

Gold gave a short nod in her direction, but kept his eyes from meeting hers. He turned and made his way towards the next mailbox, quickly grabbing the package inside and replacing it with the bundle of new mail from his bag. His hands were shaking and he almost dropped David Nolan’s hunting magazine before it found its way into the box with the rest of the mail.

It wasn’t until he was two more houses down the street that he dared to look back. She was gone. He heaved a deep sigh of relief and let his shoulders finally relax.

The rest of his route was spent thinking over the discovery that Belle French was not a woman approaching her twilight years, but instead a very young, attractive woman who he was very much afraid he was half in love with after less than a minute of conversation.

He supposed it was inevitable that he would have fallen for her that fast. Gold had already thought her the most delightful creature that ever lived. It was no surprise he was a goner the moment he saw how beautiful she was, as well. Long brunette locks framed a lovely and kind face with gorgeous blue eyes that flashed with the intelligence of the most well-read brain he’d ever encountered.  

Gold sighed and leaded against the Lucas’ red mailbox. He had a feeling this was going to be a problem.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks passed and he hadn’t seen her again. It was hardly odd, considering they had never crossed paths in the years before this, but he still found himself disappointed. He wanted to see her, talk to her. Even if he was lucky enough to catch her at her mailbox though, he knew he’d never get up the courage to ask her out on an actual date.

Luckily, he’d recently realized that there may be a way to solve both of his problems at once.

The local historical society was holding a special event that Saturday in the town hall, showcasing many Colonial antiques, including a rare collection of spinning wheels. There was even going to be a spinning demonstration in the afternoon.

Gold tucked the flyer for the event into Ms. French’s copy of _Knit & Spin_, inside the article called One-of-a-Kind Spinning Wheels. He thought himself rather clever and was in such a good mood the rest of the day that Regina cursed at him for smiling so loudly. It was a Tuesday though, so Gold only smiled more.

He had such faith in Ms. French’s overwhelming curiosity that he didn’t begin to doubt that she would show up until he found himself glancing at the clock as the second hand slowly ticked closer and closer towards 2 pm, the time of the spinning demonstration.

Saturdays were a slow day for mail, so he had gotten his route done quickly that morning and raced home to change and make himself look as presentable as he felt a man in his late 40s with slightly greying hair could possibly hope to look. He’d arrived at the town hall well before noon and had spent the two hours looking closely at the exhibits and trying to prepare witty remarks to make about them when Ms. French arrived.

The demonstration was just beginning when he saw her finally make her way towards the small crowd that had gathered in front of the presenter. He took in her short blue spring dress and the way her curls fell over her head and he knew he couldn’t afford to screw this up. It was impossible that another woman as entirely perfect as her would exist in the backwards town of Storybrooke – in fact, Gold found it quite a miracle that she had ended up here herself.  

After the demonstration finished, he made his way over to her, fighting through the crowd as it dispersed. She had turned her back to walk towards the next exhibit, so he tapped her gently on the shoulder.

“Ms. French?”

She turned back and he saw the recognition in her face as her eyes fell upon him.

“Oh, it’s you.”

They weren’t exactly flattering words, but she said them without prejudice, which he supposed he should be grateful for. He hadn’t exactly been very friendly the last time they had met.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” He reached out a hand in greeting. “I’m Roger Gold by the way. I don’t think I introduced myself last time.”

She shook his hand in return, shaking her head as she did so. “No, you were too busy thinking I was an imposter.”

He chuckled nervously, withdrawing his hand. “Yes, I’m very sorry about that.”  
  
Ms. French laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m used to having people question my identity.”

It took him a moment, but this time he realized she was joking. His laugh was genuine now and they fell easily into a conversation about the event and the many exhibits as they walked around the large room. Gold neglected to mention to her that he’d already seen them all, of course. He found himself thankful he had studied them beforehand as Belle – because she told him in no uncertain terms that being called Ms. French made her feel like an elderly maid – was far and away more knowledgeable on the antiques than he was, even with his practiced observations.

She was just as witty and intelligent as he knew she would be and the more he listened to her talk about colonial history, the more he knew he could happily listen to her lecture him on the minute details of pilgrim farming and religious practices for the rest of his life.

“You’re quite the historical expert,” Gold said. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m the head librarian at the school,” she said, stopping to pick up a brochure for the society’s next event. “It’s the perfect job for me, being surrounded by so many books. My only regret is that I’ll never be able to read them all!”

After looking at the last two exhibits, Gold realized they had made a complete circle around the room, bringing them back to the beginning. Now was his chance to ask her out. He took a deep breath.

“Well, this has been fun. I certainly had fun.” He grimaced and tried to stop the words from just tumbling out of his mouth. “Did you enjoy yourself, Belle?”

She nodded enthusiastically and he caught a glimmer of humor in her eyes, though he couldn’t figure out what she could be laughing at.

They stood in silence for a few moments more. Gold knew this was his only chance, but the longer the silence lasted, the longer his self-doubt began to wear away at him, reminding him of a dozen reasons why she would laugh in his face if he asked her to go out with him. Perhaps she had figured out his purpose already and was secretly laughing at him, he realized. It would explain the mysterious twinkle in her eye, he thought miserably.

“I should go,” he said suddenly. He saw Belle jump a bit at his abruptness.

“Oh?” She looked confused. “That’s a shame. Do you have to work?”

“N-n-no,” he stuttered, trying to think of a reasonable excuse to get him out of this increasingly embarrassing situation. “I have things. Things to do, you know.”

“You have things,” she repeated back slowly.

“Yes, very important ones.”

Belle nodded. “I see.” Gold could tell by her narrowed eyes that she didn’t, however, which was just as well for him. “Well, I hope you enjoy your day, Roger.”

“You, too.” Gold started to walk off hurriedly before something inside him, maybe the one brave bone he had in his otherwise cowardly body, made him turn around for a brief moment and call out to her.

“It was really nice to meet you, Belle. You’re quite brilliant, you know.”

As the blush began to spread across her face, she gave him a dazzling smile. Gold practically ran out of the room before he could mortify himself again.

\----------------------------------------------------------

The mail didn’t go out on Sunday, so it wasn’t until Monday morning that Gold found himself walking hesitantly toward Belle’s yellow mailbox. He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t see her anywhere. For a moment, he thought he saw a movement at one of her windows, but he decided he was just being paranoid.

Gold reached into the mailbox and pulled out a couple of envelopes before stuffing them into his bag. As he went to put the newest copy of _The American Scholar_ into her box, he saw that he had missed something. Reaching back into the mailbox, he withdrew a small pamphlet advertising the Storybrooke Historical Society’s next event. An out-of-town lecturer was giving a speech on the Revolutionary War. Gold realized with a start that it was the pamphlet he had seen Belle pick up on Saturday.

He was wondering how in the world it had gotten into her mailbox when his breath stopped and his heart began to race. At the bottom of the page, there was a hand-written note in beautiful looping script:

_I just thought you may want to know that I’ll be attending this talk on Thursday. I’m hoping your reasons for putting the flyer in my mail last week weren’t completely altruistic, as I would very much like you to buy me a drink after the speech._

_Ever hopeful,_

_Belle_

Gold felt a grin slowly spread across his face as he read the note over and over again. He glanced back at her window and this time he could see Belle clearly peeking through the curtain. Lifting the pamphlet in the air, he gave what he hoped was a clear nod. He was fairly certain his smile was so big at this point that his face was likely to break open from the strain.

Belle smiled in return and gave a friendly little wave of her own before turning back into the house.

After putting her magazine in her box and shutting what he had come to think of as the mailbox’s hood, Gold found himself whistling a jaunty Colonial-sounding tune, which he continued as he delivered the rest of Storybrooke’s mail that day.

Being postman was still far from the most prestigious job in town, but at that moment Gold couldn’t think of another man in town half as lucky as himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my own penpal, love--loveislayered. Long letters are the best, booyah!


End file.
